


Toothpaste Kisses

by shockumentary



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shockumentary/pseuds/shockumentary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt reminisces about a few events that have lead him to his wedding day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toothpaste Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> The story is based _around_ [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSETAxq-vlw) song, and most of what is in italics are lyrics.

  


Kurt still doesn’t know why he’d agreed to go to the party. He hadn’t been to a party since college, and Blaine’s argument wasn’t even all that convincing. But he’d gone anyway, and now he can’t bring himself to be all that upset about it, despite the absolute drag prior to the liquor coursing through his veins. He doesn’t remember it all, the night’s details are blurry, but he remembers the way he tasted like Bud Light, and Kurt had expected something at least a little more masculine. He remembers the way they moved, drunk and stumbling and laughing the entire time while the speakers blared a feel good song, and after all these years, Kurt can even remember the opening lines, _cradle me, I’ll cradle you,_ but he doesn’t remember going to bed, he doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembers waking up, head throbbing and his mind begging someone, anyone, to turn off the god damned sun because it was ten seconds from making him puke. _I’ll win your heart with a whoop-a-woo_ , and he remembers the way that he had to wriggle out of the grip on his waist, clutching him back to a solid chest, both fully clothed. And more than any of that, remembers willingly climbing back into the bed, sliding in alongside to lines of the body beside him. He remembers tangling their limbs and laughing when Sebastian rolled them over, hovering above him before stealing a kiss and climbing over him to find breakfast. _Pulling shapes for your eyes,_ and he remembers the way that he moved, fluid and bird-like, but still a little clumsy, like a baby deer learning to walk. He wasn’t sure where he was, whose house he was at, or where it was located on the island, but it was only seconds before he realized that he’d arrived with Blaine and was waking up with Sebastian, and he remembers the panic rising in his chest until Blaine’s voice, loud and carrying, bounded down the hallway moments before the mop of messy hair poked in the doorway, near shouting “’morning, sunshine!” to receive a middle finger. Kurt had never been a morning person.

  


They left before breakfast, and he didn’t say goodbye to Sebastian, because they’d somehow completely ignored the fact that they’d woken up, tangled in each other, exchanging morning kisses like they’d been doing it for years. The reality of it all was that the last time Kurt had seen Sebastian was months before when they’d run into each other in Bloomingdale’s and Sebastian had very nearly walked out with a god-awful botanical print tie and mismatched cuff-links. It had ended up alright once Sebastian realized that the look of sheer disdain that Kurt wore wasn’t for _him_ , exactly, but for his choice of accessories. They argued over ties, Sebastian wanted the white and silver with some odd vine print, and Kurt reasoned that it was inappropriate for anything that wasn’t his own wedding day, and chose a solid black with white polka-dots instead. It was quirky enough without being tacky or over the top, but Sebastian protested that the colors and print were boring and he wasn’t a boring person. They’d gone their separate ways, and Kurt had only wondered a couple of times why he hadn’t run into Sebastian more often, because the Chelsea district wasn’t all that big, and there was no way that Sebastian was just shopping.

  


He didn’t see Sebastian for a while after that morning, and he realizes that “a while” is understatement when it was really a handful of months before their next encounter at Joe’s on a Thursday morning, and Kurt was on his way out the door, espresso in one hand with Blaine texting him about some boy crisis in the other. He’d vowed to himself to pay more attention to walking and less attention to Blaine’s melodramatic “but kurt, what do i DO,” but his mind was preoccupied with picking up the lyrics playing over the sound system. _With toothpaste kisses and lines_ ,  when he felt the heat of the espresso seeping through the layers (some things never change) of his pea coat, cardigan, vest and finally his shirt, burning against his skin while the all-too-recognizable voice teased “God, Hummel, watch where you’re going,” while Sebastian grabbed a handful of napkins to help soak up the hot drink. Kurt worked with him, making idle chat about why they’d never seen each other, when they both stopped in every morning (it was determined that the cause of this was that Kurt usually had to be to work by 7:50 and Sebastian didn’t really care when he went to work, but he had _things_ to do beforehand, so they were usually minutes apart.) and it was just blocks away from Sebastian’s apartment, and blocks away from Kurt’s apartment, and the perplexed look came when they wondered if they lived in the same building. As it turned out, however, when Sebastian said blocks, he meant _blocks_ , and when Kurt said blocks, he meant across the street, but Sebastian refused to tell Kurt what building he lived in, because there was “no way that Kurt Hummel was interested in knowing where he lived for any reason other than to silently judge him every time they were in a room together.” He was so adamant, in fact, that he refused all morning until Kurt slyly asked for Sebastian’s number, “for reasons”, and on the paper was scrawled, in Sebastian’s handwriting, “London Terrace”.

  


London Terrace is nice. Beyond nice, and he can’t imagine ever judging Sebastian for living somewhere so extravagant, though he supposed that was exactly Sebastian’s concern. He’d wanted to step foot in the apartments since he moved to New York so many years ago, and he’d never really gotten the chance until that night. He was standing at the window when he felt the heat of Sebastian behind him, and Kurt shivered not even visibly, but enough for him to feel, and when Sebastian’s mouth lowered to his neck, it was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling, but Sebastian was kind enough to snake an arm around his waist and do the work for him. Their movements progressed, slow and steady, hot kisses and too much touching and talking before Kurt was on his back and Sebastian was invading his senses. His skin was flushed and warm against the cool sheets, and Sebastian’s mouth on him wasn’t helping to cool him down, pressing open mouthed kisses across his clavicle, into the dip of the bone and down, over his sternum and chest. The talking had stopped and the music faded into the background, lyrics a quiet and subdued reminder, seeping into his subconscious, _I’ll be yours and you’ll be-_ and Sebastian took possession of his mouth. Kurt was acutely aware of the fact that he was naked and Sebastian was not, a layer of cotton keeping him from skin-to-skin contact, and Kurt just _couldn’t_ appreciate that, and Sebastian was taking his sweet time in taking this any further. He must have gotten the message eventually, but Kurt wasn’t sure if it was the demanding way that his hips shifted and writhed against Sebastian’s, or the final breathy whisper of “please,” against his ear. Something had tipped him off, because he was suddenly ceasing all movements and kisses to strip off his undershirt and boxer-briefs, and Kurt took a long second to just take in Sebastian’s figure. Long, flat planes of pale flesh, stretched tight and taut over the expanse of muscle and bones in the most delicious ways, and he was absolutely _wrecked_ when he reached a shaking hand forward, tracing lines down his chest and over his stomach. Sebastian was the most confident person he knew, and it was almost a little odd to see him there, like this, nervous and maybe even a little scared of judgment, but Kurt was positive that there was no way that Sebastian was more nervous than he was. Sebastian must have known, somehow, because he didn’t allow Kurt the time that he wanted to just admire him, and instead was lowering his body, the full weight of it seeming to crash into Kurt’s while Sebastian’s mouth found his neck again, leaving hot kisses to his ear where he spoke a quiet and very un-Sebastian-like ”You’re beautiful.”  

  


Kurt was surprised, he’d expected hot and dirty and fast, he’d expected to leave immediately after, but he felt a little bit guilty once it was said and done for not giving Sebastian more credit. It was nothing like what he thought, but certainly no less pleasing. Sebastian took his time, memorizing every dip and curve of Kurt’s figure, down to the way that his waist curved in just before the jut of his hips, and when Kurt’s legs were around his waist, Sebastian’s hands followed the lines of them as well. He wasn’t selfish, another expectation on Kurt’s part, but instead he was so unbelievably giving that Kurt didn’t even know what to do with himself. Every movement was slow, calculated and deliberate, and Kurt had known how this was going to go from the second Sebastian had slipped a single finger inside of him and paused for the initial tensing. He knew what he was doing, that much was clear, and Kurt was so overwhelmed by the slow thrusting of the eventual two fingers, curling and brushing light and flush against his prostate, that he hadn’t even considered that Sebastian was far more experienced. But the way that Kurt moved would give away any indication that he wasn’t as innocent as some would assume. He’d had his fair share between the time that he and Blaine had broken up and then, it had been years, but never anyone like Sebastian. Never anyone that had taken their time the way that Sebastian did, and Kurt could distinctly remember that no one, in all of his sexual history, had ever given him an orgasm the way that Sebastian did either. Once the night had progressed, past kisses and fingering and finally onto the imminent relief, Sebastian was careful and attentive, and the way that he held Kurt’s body, cradled with one arm around his lower back and the other around his shoulders, propping himself on his knees while his hips thrust, slow and deep, and Kurt’s canted downward, trying so desperately to take him _deeper_ , and Sebastian obliged, angling his hips for the optimal depth that just happened to be the optimal angle for every drag of Sebastian’s cock to scrape slow and dragging over Kurt’s prostate. He was a mess of quick breaths and trembling limbs and Sebastian was so calm, so collected, despite Kurt absolutely unraveling beneath him, and he kept his composure all the way through Kurt’s nails in his back, his pleading for “harder,” against his neck, and finally through the hot release between their bodies, slick with the sheen of sweat that covered the both of them. It wasn’t until the movements were erratic and a little more desperate that Kurt knew that Sebastian was close, and with a breathy moan against Kurt’s ear, he came, and though Kurt was smarter than not using protection, he could feel it, every pulse of Sebastian inside of him, the tensing of his stomach against his own, and Sebastian’s arms seemed to wrap tighter, gripping onto Kurt like he would never let go.

  


Even now, Kurt remembers the way it felt, safe and secure in his arms, even in the moments post orgasm, and the way that his heart skipped when he started to get up, gather his discarded clothes and leave, and Sebastian grabbed his wrist and pulled him down again, solidifying his stay with a “don’t leave,” against the back of his neck. He finished the lyric in his head, _lay with me, I’ll lay with you,_ and Kurt didn’t sleep much that night. His mind rambled on, too fast to make sense of it all, and the only solace he found was in the way that Sebastian moved when he slept, slow and fluid when he turned into Kurt’s back and held on a little tighter, and in the way that he looked, naked and sprawled across half of the bed, the glow of the moon showering him in blue and highlighting every tiny freckle that it cast across, leaving Kurt with no choice but to use his index finger and trace lines to connect each of the spots in a pattern on his flesh. The morning brought a 6 AM alarm, blaring and harsh against his ears and leaving him groaning while he turned into the pillow to try to block the sound just as Sebastian jolted awake with a gasp, like he’d been startled out of sleep, slamming his hand down on the snooze. Kurt waited for the aftermath, the realization that Sebastian Smythe had let someone stay the night. Instead he got an arm around his waist, pulling him closer, _closer_ until he could feel the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest, the breath against his shoulder, the heat radiating from his skin, and the long and lanky leg when it hiked up, draping over Kurt’s hip. Instead, he got a raspy, sleep-riddled “Good morning,” against his skin.

  


It was nearly a year later that Kurt moved in. His lease was up and Sebastian’s only had a few weeks left before renewal, so there was a split-second decision that had Kurt signing his name on the dotted line. Looking back, he’s not entirely sure why he’d agreed to it. They had no title, there hadn’t been “I love you”s exchanged, but he did love Sebastian, and while he knew that Sebastian wasn’t even considering seeing or dating anyone else, he wanted more. The day he moved in is vivid in his mind, he’d insisted that Sebastian’s apartment needed a make-over, so it was more like they were both moving in, really. Sebastian’s things were sorted through, some sold and some donated, and Kurt’s were the same, and they shopped for furniture, and Kurt had the thought that the song was haunting him now, playing in Ikea when the words spilled over the PA, _we'll do the things that lovers do._ They weren’t lovers, exactly, but they _were_ doing that thing that lovers do. The day that Kurt officially moved, no matter that he’d been staying almost every night for two months, they were both so sure that it would last, even if they never spoke of it. Kurt remembered the way that the apartment was in complete disarray, furniture moved to the edges of the rooms, boxes stacked in corners, and when Sebastian banged his hip on the counter, Kurt commented on the way it was almost heart-shaped, and Sebastian just grinned that stupid, smug grin that he did and that was the end of the moving day. They couldn’t be bothered to do anything more than just _enjoy_ it, their first night living together, no matter the fact that it was hardly a home yet. Instead they spent the night, lying on the hard wood floor of the living room, Kurt’s head on Sebastian’s chest and Sebastian’s fingers in his hair. The windows were open and the sounds of New York were comforting, playing them a quiet lullaby that amplified every touch, ever kiss. The wind whipped effortlessly through the apartment, cooling it and Kurt’s skin from the idle kisses that Sebastian left him, and it was the first night time that they’d actually come close to actually talking about _feelings_ when Sebastian wasn’t sure if he liked the rugs, and Kurt argued that he didn’t like anything. _Put the stars in our eyes,_ Sebastian caught him off guard when he kissed his lips, slow and deep, and his eyes had a new kind of sparkle when he told Kurt “but I like you more than most things.” And Kurt couldn’t say anything more than “How’s your hip,” _and with heart shaped bruises,_ and Sebastian said nothing, but kissed him again, as if that were all they needed.

  


The fight came then, three years of skirting around the issue. Kurt wanted the title, Sebastian didn’t want to talk about it. They’d argued and bickered about it before, but it had never been as bad as that night. It was late and Kurt had just finished doing the dishes and Sebastian had decided that the laundry had sat for long enough. Their system worked out nicely. Kurt would do all of the household cleaning, but he wouldn’t touch the trash and unless Sebastian was helping, he detested doing laundry. Sebastian was happy to do anything that wasn’t sweeping, and he cursed the fact that he’d decided on hardwood floors rather than carpet. Kurt’s iPod played quietly on shuffle in the background, and he didn’t even pay attention to it when he sat on the coffee table, facing Sebastian on the couch. He couldn’t remember the conversation word-for-word, but he did remember the yelling, arguing that they’d been doing this for long enough, they might as well have the title, and Sebastian had him fuming because he didn’t say a word, not a single word the entire time Kurt spoke, but he continued his sock folding, working slower the louder Kurt’s voice got. Kurt felt shattered, like something had been ripped out of him and left a Sebastian-shaped hole, throbbing in his chest, and he realized then, this was heartbreak. This was everything that he never wanted to feel in the first place. Why he’d been wary about their first date that they didn’t even call a date, why he’d freaked to Blaine when he realized that he was feeling something more than just good sex, why he’d clung so tightly and never pushed the issue when Sebastian got too heated about it. Because having Sebastian like that was better than not having him at all. But he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t sit back and not speak up about what _he_ wanted. But Sebastian was unresponsive, so Kurt stood hastily and stomped his way back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

  


He doesn’t know what Sebastian did after that, but he was halfway through packing a bag when he came in, calm and collected as he always was, and steadied himself behind Kurt’s body. Kurt wasn’t crying. He refused. And _that song_ rang in his ears like some sort of homage to the end, he thought. Sebastian stood, silent and unwavering behind Kurt, arms tucking around his body, holding his own to his chest and efficiently stilling his movements. His chin rested against Kurt’s shoulder, and he breathed slow and steady. They stood for a few minutes, and Kurt wasn’t even aware of his shaking hands or the tears that steadily made their way, hot and heavy, down his cheeks now, but he was entirely too aware that this was probably the last time he’d ever feel Sebastian’s arms around him. And then he spoke. His voice was quiet, like it was when he was concentrating too hard on work his Xbox, but he spoke, and Kurt’s heart stopped. “I don’t want to be your boyfriend,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper against Kurt’s ear where he pressed a kiss, solid against the exposed flesh just behind it. And Kurt was sure, in that moment, that the shattering in his ears was his heart, that it was unfixable this time, that there was no one who could piece this back together. And the single word, the final word, that was so _wrong_ now, rang loud and clear, carried against the god damn hard wood, mocking Kurt with its _divine_. He felt anything _but_ divine right then. And just when he was sure that it was the end, Sebastian spoke again, fingers moving against Kurt’s while he did “I want to be your husband.”

  


Kurt smiles while he twists the ring between his fingers, a reminder of where he is now. He’s happy, he thinks, just before he’s drawn from it. His husband is waiting on the dance floor, smiling with the ridiculous white and silver, oddly printed tie, and the song rings loud through the speakers. Kurt barely hears it this time, because Sebastian is speaking, a coy “Excuse me, Mister Smythe, may I have this dance,” while Kurt beams, wide and bright and everything he should be on his wedding day. His hand fits in Sebastian’s, perfectly matching like puzzle pieces, and the ring is heavier on his finger than it had been in his palm, and the heat radiates through him, all the way to his toes. Sebastian’s other hand is on his waist, and he’s singing, quiet and off-key, _“Cradle me, I'll cradle you, I'll win your heart with a whoop-a-woo. Pulling shapes just for your eyes, so with toothpaste kisses and lines… I'll be yours and you'll be-“_ He pauses there, pulling away just enough to smile down at Kurt and finish the lyric with his own addition, barely whispering “ _mine,”_ against Kurt’s mouth while he steals a kiss, their second kiss as married men. Sebastian still leaves him thoughtless with touch of his lips, but as soon as he can manage, he thinks quickly about just how perfect their first dance is, and he knows, even if subconsciously, that this moment, swaying and spinning, every movement in synch and every eye trained on the two of them, this moment will be the one that he remembers the most, the one where he’ll remember every detail, every word, even if the rest will always be a little fuzzy. 


End file.
